Protecting His Princess Page 14

  Harris shook his head. “I haven’t had the chance.”

  The mission was priority one now. But when they returned to the United States, if she had to, Laila wasn’t sure how she would let Harris go.

  Chapter 7

  Harris shook off the remnants of sleep. He’d been dreaming with Laila at his side, the fresh scent of her skin wrapping around every thought. She’d captivated him, enough that he’d shared with her stories about his family, the people closest to him. Protective of his family and the people he loved, he was very careful about what he said about them. If a victim, witness or informant knew he had family, he made it clear they weren’t a subject he discussed. Even with coworkers, he was sometimes reluctant to discuss them.

  He didn’t want his deepening relationship with Laila to cause him to make a mistake or overlook a critical piece of information. Devon had warned him that working closely with Laila could cause these problems, as if Harris’s relationship with Cassie hadn’t already taught him of those dangers. Harris wouldn’t let emotions get ahead of logic or blind him.

  Harris had made good progress in the few days he’d been in Qamsar. The more he observed Mikhail and the people around him, the more familiar faces appeared. Like Tariq Salem. He didn’t want anyone or anything to impact his headway.

  Leaving Laila’s room via the balcony was becoming easier. He’d done so a few times, and at this point, he needed to get the timing right, and he could remain unseen.

  He entered his room and was immediately aware it had been searched. The pillow on the left had been rotated upside down, and the dust patterns on the dresser gave away items had been shifted.

  When had the search taken place? Last night while he was at the emir’s party? He’d need to search again for listening or recording devices, and to be safe, he’d make a call to his “brother” explaining the previous night and where he had been. If someone had come into his room the night before and found him missing from it, he didn’t want questions raised.

  He swept for bugs and found only the one in place that had been in his room since his arrival. He sent a secure message to the CIA that he’d seen Tariq Salem speaking with Mikhail and relayed his suspicions about the American spy being held in the Cinder Block. He dialed Tyler under the pretense of talking about his evening at the emir’s party. He didn’t drop any names, and he didn’t reveal anything the emir would object to him saying. The emir had invited Harris into his inner circle, and Harris didn’t want to openly flaunt that trust.

  He told Tyler that, the last thing he had remembered, he’d been en route to his room and had passed out in the garden.

  After trading some friendly banter, he wrapped up the call. “I need to get a hot shower and something to eat,” Harris said.

  “Stay in touch. We hope to see you soon,” Tyler said.

  In other words, send a secure transmission with anything you discovered, and let’s wrap this mission successfully and soon.

  Harris went into the bathroom and turned on the fan. He opened his phone and logged into the CIA mobile application with the profiles of persons of interest to the CIA. He found Tariq Salem’s picture right away. He was number seven on the CIA’s list.

  Harris read Tariq Salem’s detailed profile. Most of the information he’d known. He was surprised to learn Tariq was a distant relative of Aisha’s on her father’s side. Was Tariq Salem at the wedding as Aisha’s kin or as the emir’s business associate? Why had Mikhail chosen him as a husband for his mother?

  Harris logged out of the application, questions running through his mind. He took a shower, shaved and brushed his teeth. Though he had left her less than an hour ago, he was looking forward to meeting Laila for breakfast. He’d spent the night with a woman he was interested in sexually, but nothing physical had happened between them. Yet he’d felt as if everything was right with the world. Instead of frustration, his anticipation intensified. Though nothing could happen with her, he couldn’t keep his mind off the idea of holding her, touching her and tasting her.

  It would have been natural for him to pull her into his arms and make love with her. Were she any other woman with whom he had amazing chemistry, he wouldn’t have stopped himself from kissing her. But this was Laila. She was working with him on this mission, and she was innocent. He couldn’t take advantage of her, not again. Laila was risking everything for him.

  She’d proven to be smart and trustworthy, but Mikhail was a powerful man. If he suspected Laila of deception, he wouldn’t hesitate to punish her, sister or not.

  Harris wanted to call one of his brothers, one of his real brothers, and talk to them. To ask if his need to be close to her and his excitement to see her was part of their experiences with their girlfriends-turned-wives. His brothers teased, they made fun of each other, but when he needed them, they were always there. Always.

  Not to say he and Laila were like his brothers and their wives. But Harris had never felt this way. The intensity of the attraction was new. Harris had had good times and fun trips with other girlfriends, but what he was experiencing with Laila rose to a higher level.

  Other relationships could go either way, and he wouldn’t have cared much. With Laila, he’d care if they had to part ways. He would miss her. He would want to know how she was doing. He would want to see her.

  That almost scared him more than the risks he was taking on this mission. He couldn’t cut and run. Not with Laila. Knowing at some point she would be relocated and given a fresh start made the gnawing in his stomach worse.

  * * *

  Harris received a message from Tyler that the team needed to speak to him. Disappointed he’d miss breakfast, he texted Laila to eat without him.

  Harris left the compound on foot to be sure he wasn’t under audio or video surveillance. He didn’t mention to Laila where he was headed, and he doubled back several times to ensure he wasn’t followed. He called Tyler when he was a good distance from the compound.

  “We got your message,” Tyler said.

  “Do you need me to do something else with him?” Harris asked. Him being Tariq Salem.

  “No,” Tyler said. “We’re trying to confirm why he’s attending the wedding. Is he a guest of the bride or is he there for Al-Adel?”

  Harris looked around to ensure he was alone. “I can’t be sure. I had the same question.”

  “Several other assets confirmed the rumor that the American spy is being held in the Cinder Block. The CIA also has a way for you to get inside, talk to him and find out what he knows. We’re worried he might be relocated to the west side of the country to another prison or vanish completely.”

  “Why would he be moved?” Harris asked. Harris was more concerned that he’d be executed before anyone had time to intervene on his behalf.

  “If too many people have heard rumors that an American spy is being held inside the Cinder Block, the embassy will get involved and contact local authorities. The emir still has the right to decide if the American will be permitted to speak to anyone, but he won’t create an international incident over it,” Tyler said. “The Cinder Block doesn’t have the facilities to perform a quiet execution, and the guards can’t give the prisoners another reason to stage a revolt. They’ll move him somewhere and make a big deal about his transfer, and then kill him without anyone knowing or causing a problem. But we won’t let that happen. Instead, you’ll get the intel, and once you confirm he’s inside, we’ll work on a liberation plan.”

  The way inside wouldn’t be simple. “If I’m caught, my cover is blown, and I won’t be able to work the emir from my current position.” Didn’t the CIA have other agents in position to help the captured American spy?

  “The way inside the Cinder Block involves Laila, and I doubt she’d work with anyone but you.”

  Harris mulled that over. Laila would help him if he asked. She’d been concerned to learn about the prisoner in the Cinder Block. Even so, he’d need to hear the plan first before he was willing to involve her. If it put h
er at an unacceptable risk level, the answer would be no. “Tell me how I’ll get into the most locked-down prison in the country and with a woman no less.”

  Tyler sighed. “You don’t have to sound defeatist. We need the intel the American has. He knows something, and we need to find out what.”

  Harris looked around again. A few cars passed along the street, but no foot traffic. The heat of the day kept most people indoors. “Assuming I get inside and manage to find him, how will I get this man to talk to me?”

  “We have faith in you, and we can give you a few tools to use.”

  “I’m not torturing anyone,” Harris said, not liking where this conversation was heading. Another reason he preferred working for the FBI. As a special agent, he’d never been asked to use extreme measures when questioning a suspect.

  “Not torture. High likelihood he’s been trained to withstand that anyway. We want you to use your profiler training and get inside his psyche. Prepare what you’ll say to him and then get the information from him. We’ll send you what we know for you to start with.”

  Harris was comfortable analyzing someone. But he didn’t have background information on this man specifically, and he wouldn’t have much time to talk to him. Any technique he used would be based on a generic profile and whatever impression he got of the man when they met. “Tell me the plan to get inside.” He wasn’t a Navy SEAL. He wasn’t storming the gates and taking out enemies in an attempt to talk to the American spy. That scenario ended with both of them getting killed.

  “We stumbled on to some lucky information. The emir’s brother, Saafir, has been working with humanitarian groups throughout the world to bring compassion to the infirm and imprisoned in Qamsar,” Tyler said. “He’s working quietly, keeping his mission off center stage. The emir knows about it, but Saafir is trying not to flaunt it in his face. He’s been having women hand out food, water and blankets.”

  The notebook he and Laila had found in the Emir’s private library came to mind. If Saafir was a goodwill humanitarian, how was he tied into the Holy Light Brotherhood? Could be his humanitarian work was a cover. “I’m not asking Laila to go into that prison, and I don’t know if we can trust Saafir.” Laila had helped enough. She’d put herself at risk by coming to Qamsar, by assisting him in placing the bugs and by agreeing to their late-night rendezvous. Taking her into a filthy, dangerous prison didn’t sit well with him.

  “You won’t tell Saafir anything about your objectives. You’ll be with Laila, and you’ll look out for her,” Tyler said.

  If she came, yes, he would. But why put her at risk? “Why would Saafir allow us to get involved?” Harris asked. Women in Qamsar could go more places and weren’t seen as a threat. But he was a man and a foreigner.

  “Tell him your family would like to make a contribution to support the good work he’s doing. He cares more about his cause than he does about preserving some facade that their prisons are humane.”

  Unless Saafir’s concern was feigned. “I can try it.” He’d heard stories about the Cinder Block. It was an awful place, dirty and dark. Rats, roaches and who-knew-what-else inhabited that jail along with the inmates. It was no place for a woman like Laila.

  “We’ll wire some money into your account, and you can write a check to Saafir. Once he agrees, you can join their humanitarian trip, and when you get close to the American, you need to speak to him in Russian.” Tyler described what Harris was to do, how he could reveal himself as an agent without tipping off the guards or anyone in their party.

  “What if he shuts me out?” Harris asked. A few days in a hellhole could wreck a man. How would Harris gain his trust in a few seconds and convince him to talk?

  “Then we’re working in the dark about what he knows,” Tyler said. “I know you can do this.”

  Harris would try it. He wanted a way inside the Cinder Block without involving Laila. “Why does Laila need to be involved? I can speak to Saafir directly.”

  “Saafir won’t take a foreigner into the prison. But at the request of his sister, he will take her and her suitor.”

  “You sound confident.”

  “We are confident.”

  Now if only Harris had that much assurance in the plan and in keeping Laila safe in one of the most treacherous prisons in the country.

  It was his turn to ask for a favor. “I need you to kick something up the chain for me,” Harris said.

  “Go ahead,” Tyler said.

  “When I get Laila, her mother and possibly her brother Saafir safely to America, I want to know where they’re relocated to. I want to keep tabs on them.” He’d start with making sure Laila wasn’t swallowed up by the system. Then he’d figure out a way to see her.

  A long silence followed. “I’ll pass your request along. But, Harris, we both know the chances of anyone agreeing to that are nil.”

  * * *

  Late that afternoon Saafir was alone in the gardens when Harris and Laila approached him.

  He and Laila greeted each other warmly, and Harris noted how different her interaction with Saafir was compared to the formal and distant manner she and Mikhail had been with one another. She introduced Harris to Saafir. It was the first time Harris had spoken to the emir’s brother.

  “Please, join me,” Saafir said, gesturing to the open seats across from him. In the middle of the table was a pot of tea and several drinking cups stacked upside down.

  Harris and Laila each took a seat, and Laila poured them both a cup of tea, topping off Saafir’s cup, as well.

  Saafir smiled his thanks. “The weather is beautiful today. With the wedding activities, this is one of the only quiet places I could find to sit and think.”

  “I hope we aren’t disturbing you,” Harris said.

  Saafir took a sip of his tea and then set it down on the table. “No, not at all.” His mannerisms were slow and precise, calm and unhurried. Harris had trouble picturing this man as an ally of the Holy Light Brotherhood, but the most dangerous men were the ones who hid it best.

  After talking for a few minutes, Laila brought the conversation around to their purpose. “Harris and I are interested in helping with your humanitarian mission in the prison system.”

  Saafir regarded his sister carefully. “You’ve never mentioned wanting to get involved. Why now?”

  “Whenever you’ve emailed me, you tell me about your work. It’s obviously something you care about a great deal. I want to help. We want to help.”

  Saafir wrapped his hands around his teacup. “What did you have in mind?”

  Not an outright no like Harris had expected. Thus far the emir’s younger brother was proving to be easy to get along with. Years living in his brother’s shadow hadn’t made him outwardly angry or bitter. He had carved out his own identity and found worthwhile work.

  Harris leaned closer. “My family is eager to make friends in this country. They know how important Laila is to me, and they’ve written a check to your cause.” Harris withdrew the check and slid it on the table to Saafir.

  If Saafir was surprised, he didn’t show it. He didn’t immediately reach for the check, either. “I am glad you and my sister are happy together. I don’t expect a gesture to sway me. I’m not the person you need to win over, and from what I’ve heard, the family is pleased with this match.”

  Laila shook her head. “The money is not meant to buy you or your favor. Harris and his family want to help.” The genuineness in her voice was believable.

  Saafir smiled. “Then I accept your gift, and thank you from the bottom of my heart.” He took the check and put it under his teacup. “The work we’re doing brings better living conditions to the prisons. It’s our tradition that the families of the imprisoned should care for them, send food and clothing, and necessary items, but too often the families can’t afford to send anything or aren’t given access to the prison to deliver the items. Packages get lost in transit, and prisoners go hungry for days or weeks on end. I wish to stop this. Even prisoners deser
ve essentials and respect.”

  Harris didn’t see the connection to the Holy Light Brotherhood. But Saafir’s dedication was almost too good to be true. “How did you convince the emir it was a good idea to go into the prisons and offer help?” Harris asked. He hoped Saafir would give away something in the manner by which he spoke of his brother.

  Saafir leaned closer. “Mikhail is a good man with good intentions, but he feels that kindness is a sign of weakness. By taking on the project myself and keeping my distance from the emir and his administration, needed work can be done without my brother appearing weak. As much as my brother resists change, he knows our prisons are old and crumbling.”

  Harris understood the emir’s thinking, though he didn’t agree with it. Kindness wasn’t weakness. Sometimes it took a stronger man to be kind than to be indifferent or cruel. “I hope that this helps your mission. It’s good work you’re doing.”

  “It’s needed work. I have more plans for the future. I’m a dreamer, and I believe in this country. I want to see social reform in schools and in the workplace. Change won’t happen overnight, but it won’t happen at all if no one does anything. Laila and I were born to privilege. It is my burden and my honor to use my influence to help my country.”

  “I’d like to see what you do in the prisons firsthand,” Harris said.

  Saafir looked between Harris and Laila. “You’d like to visit our prisons? For most visitors to our country, it’s the last place they’d want to see. The conditions are bad. You don’t have anything like this in Germany. It will be shocking to you.”

  Was he trying to talk Harris out of it, or was he telling Harris no? Harris decided to push further. “I’ve seen the most beautiful parts of Qamsar.” He glanced at Laila. She was the most beautiful part of the country, inside and out. When her eyes met his for a moment, he read the longing in them and wished they were alone. Wished he could take her in his arms and carry her away from this. She deserved more in her life. More than he could give her. He was restricted by this mission, bound by the rules of being an FBI agent, by his position and by his personal life.